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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26455939">there is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/cicaronis/pseuds/cicaronis'>cicaronis</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hannibal (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A Little Murder (as a treat), Art History, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark Will, Graphic Description of Corpses, Hand Kisses, Italy, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Canon, Red String of Fate, Religious Imagery &amp; Symbolism, Romeo and Juliet References, Soulmates, Will Graham Has Encephalitis, they're both a bit ill in the head</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 07:08:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,481</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26455939</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/cicaronis/pseuds/cicaronis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>will meets il mostro di firenze during a university trip to italy.</p><p>inspired by a handful of gregorian chants, take me to church and nfwmb by hozier, and that scene where pazzi calls hannibal will's monster. (technically, "your il mostro.")</p><p>(tagged as explicit for violence, there's no sexy times here, kids.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>52</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>there is no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Amplius lava me ab iniquitate mea: et a peccato meo munda me (miserere mei, deus).</p><p> </p><p>i'm mainly using s2 will for characterisation, because he was as dark as anything then.</p><p>seeing as will's in uni, i'm writing this as circa mid/late 1980s</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p> </p><p>Will had never been to Italy before and it truly exceeded his expectations. He'd visited every museum he could afford entrance to, and had spent hours wandering the Florencian streets. Of all the fascinating things Italy had to offer, however, he was most interested in the shortening of the red thread that wound around his hand. He'd noticed it growing ever so slightly tighter on the aeroplane, which was standard, but since arrival at the Aeroporto di Firenze, it had continued to incrementally grow tighter and tighter. At first, he had been able to ignore it, but eventually it began to disturb his sleep. He would wake up from dreams of it cutting off his circulation, leaving red marks that were either loose strands, blood, or possibly both. It finally culminated one night. He'd awoken from one of his nightmares to a tugging of a sort. His eyes followed the string from his bed out the window, and soon, almost without knowing it, he was crawling out of said window onto the connecting balcony and following its lead. It seemed natural enough, and though he was for all intents and purposes still half asleep, he felt quite alert. He was pulled softly at first, but soon the tugging became more urgent, insistent. The Fates screaming in his ears, "You get one chance, one chance, you're going to miss it, hurry, hurry." As he moved, the string grew darker, darker than he'd ever seen it, and it grew shorter. When he finally stopped, at the entrance to a cathedral, catching his breath under the light of the moon, he could have sworn the string was black as anything. This was particularly odd because it had always been so red, you see, red as blood in the sunlight, and this had irked him in the past.</p><p>This gave him pause, a fatal movement, it introduced doubt. He hesitated at the grand concourse, tracing the now almost taut string, and bit his lip.</p><p>He slipped through the entryway and heard quiet, echoing steps. He first assumed that they were headed in his direction, that the person to whom he'd been attached since birth was coming towards him, but he soon realised how incredibly wrong he was. The steps were fading and the string was loosening. Will suddenly felt quite desperate, grasping the string with all his strength and pulling, like a lead. It grew taut again for a moment and the basilica was very, very silent. </p><p>Those quiet, measured steps recommenced, this time slower, this time increasing in volume. </p><p>Will walked towards them, a steady rhythm in motion.</p><p>Through the shadowy columns, he passed, moving with intention towards an area where there seemed to be a skylight of a sort, a place where the moonlight shone through quite brilliantly.</p><p>At times, the string became so short that it ceased to swirl and dip at all. This was the first time Will could see where it originated on his body, and it fluctuated from finger to finger like a dancer lighting upon the floor.</p><p>When he subtly distanced himself from the place he knew his soulmate was concealed, he was surprised by how little resistance the string gave. They were connected to one another, inextricably tied, but they were far from restrained. It was a relief, he found, it was nothing like his dreams. He walked on one side of the sizeable columns and his soulmate walked on the other. So quietly he could no longer hear their steps. There was an unspoken agreement that they would steal no glances until they reached the light.</p><p>It seemed oh, so far away, but in truth, their pace was simply one that did not lend itself to reaching destinations, more suited for apprehensive natures than for bolder types. As Will stepped into the light, his nose was filled with the surprisingly inoffensive scent of blood. The string had started to lengthen, but no retreating steps were heard, they were waiting.</p><p>There he saw it, in the direct centre of the holy room, was a display of some kind. An odour of sweetness rose to kiss his nose ever so slightly, not the cloying scent of death, though death was clearly present, but the softly sad smell of dying flowers. </p><p>It was staged like any of the statues he had seen while visiting the many museums of Florence, but the figures were not of marble. </p><p>Michelangelo's <em>P</em><em>ietà,</em> re-imagined. </p><p>There was a peace in their faces, as though in death, all their worries had been soothed. </p><p>He could feel eyes regarding him, awaiting his response and Will realised with a feeling that was not terror was not horror was not anything it was meant to be, that the scene before him was his, in a way. Connected to him through a thin red string.</p><p><em>Ornithogalum nutans</em> and <em>Passiflora incarnata</em> skilfully woven into a silvern wreath upon the figurative Mater Dei's ever so slightly down tilted head.</p><p>Her hair shone as though heaven itself was within it, and as Will grew closer still he saw that gold leaves adorned her head, and in the light they appeared to glow. A single drop of blood marked her ivory skin, fallen from her eye as if a tear. </p><p>She wore a simple garment of white, drawing all eyes to the vibrant flowers that crowned her, a truly resplendent sight.</p><p>In her arms, a broken man with poppies spilling from his mouth and a large gash in his abdomen that veritably exploded with <em>xéranthème</em> and deep crimson rosebuds where his organs once had been.</p><p>He held his own heart, gently, though rigor mortis had rendered his grip eternal, and the blood stained his hands so artfully Will couldn't find it in him to be horrified. </p><p>It was beautiful, and he said so, whispering it reverently into the cold, still air.</p><p>He could not stop himself from reaching to graze a red-stringed finger against the display, but he paused at the sound of approaching feet.</p><p>He started to turn, but a tanned, floral scented, red-threaded hand stopped him, tilting his head back towards the scene before them.</p><p>"Ars longa, vita brevis." A deeply sonorous voice intoned, so close that Will's neck grew warm to hear it. </p><p>The hand hesitated a few centimetres away from Will's eyes and covered them before gently turning him around. Will thought this quite unfair, but did not protest.</p><p>"You find it beautiful, do you?" Painfully soft, with an accent Will did not recognise.</p><p>Will let himself smile a little, and felt for the other man, hands slowly touching what his eyes were not granted access to. When Will felt the strong curve of a jaw at his fingers, he ran his fingers over it gently before curling his hands into the hair at the nape of the man's neck. </p><p>"A beauty for which there are no words." </p><p>An all but imperceptible sigh was his answer. The man took Will's hand in his own, still covering his eyes with the other and kissed it, sweetly, lovingly, as if Will were some very holy thing. </p><p>It was an act of absolution, each gentle osculation an admittance of sacrilege and as Will ran his free hand through his sweet sinner's hair, he <em>forgave</em>.</p><p>Washing over him like an ocean's merciless waves, Will somehow heard and saw each cruelty, each grievance, each crime they had forced upon the world, felt it, held it, revelled in the glory of immense destruction, and wept. </p><p>They fell to their knees in tandem, as if in prayer, every action of Will's was done by his soulmate, and him alone. They were one and the same, each death by this man's hands was his. The sheer equilibrium of the moment was astounding. For one second and only the one, Will held the secrets of the universe within his grasp. Head spinning, words spilling from his lips like ill-fated stars from the sky. He spoke so quickly, so softly, and his words were such that he himself could not decipher them. But the words were not for him, and the man holding him somehow understood and responded in turn, whispering intently about the brilliance of their becoming and the sanctity of their sweet, sweet sin.</p><p>From somewhere up above, he could have sworn he heard the angels singing, half-mad with jealousy over what they could never obtain, a beautiful and haunting melody that made his eyes swim with the knowledge that this, oh, this life was <em>so</em> impermanent. He would never be here again and his love, his sweet, horrid, blood-stained love would someday die. Ars longa, vita brevis, he remembered. Art is long, [though] life is short. They'd live on, even to another time. </p>
<hr/><p>At some point, Will must have blacked out, because he awoke to the sound of sirens, alone. For one blood-chilling moment he feared he'd been framed, left at the scene of the crime to face consequences of his newfound lover's ill advised actions. It's much easier to wax poetic about all your sins being shared when there's no imminent fear of punishment. Will need not have worried, though. He was no longer in the cathedral when he woke. He'd been carried (he assumed) deep into the surrounding forests. Not entirely comforting, as he was now lost and alone, but preferable to spending the rest of his life in a foreign prison.</p><p>Will regarded the string that now lay limp around his wrist with a total lack of surprise and a deep aching longing to be reunited with the man he'd barely met. He hadn't even asked his name, he realised.</p><p>The thread seemed as loose as it was when Will was back at university. A disquieting thought, to be so far from him again.</p>
<hr/><p>He managed to find his way back to the flat he and a few other students were renting for their trip. Though, by the time he arrived, it was nearly midday and he'd been out for almost twelve hours. His flatmates teased him about his night out, crudely asking what he'd been up to and whatnot. They all noticeably stopped teasing him when the news of the murders was made public the next morning. He'd always been the top student in his Criminology and Forensics classes, leading his colleagues to make several off-colour remarks about his affinity for the stuff. They'd never <em>really</em> believed he was capable of anything, obviously, but they all had their suspicions. His brief disappearance aligned, in their minds, perfectly with the kills and from then on, Will frequently caught them whispering and casting nervous glances in his direction when they thought he was distracted. He didn't mind at first, it meant that they left him alone, which he preferred. By the time their stares became oppressive in their intensity, they had but one night left in Italy. Will had retreated to the balcony, his roommates electing to sleep elsewhere in the flat following the revelation of their collective theory. He lit a cigarette, watching as the smoke disappeared into the silver light of the moon. Closing his eyes, he smiled as he recalled the previous afternoon. He'd gone down to the street shop to pick up a few groceries (namely, alcohol and cigarettes) for their remaining nights and a newspaper headline had caught his eye. "Il Mostro Colspice Ancora!" The Monster strikes again. <em>His</em> monster, Will had thought fondly to himself, grabbing a few copies.</p><p>Humming to himself as he jogged up the steps to his flat, he listened to the relatively boisterous laughter of the other students inside and wondered briefly if they were laughing at him. No matter, he decided, and entering, tossed the newspapers in their general direction with a triumphant gleam in his eyes. "Serial killer, boys. Couldn't have been me." He informed them with a smile that was a little too sharp, his tone drenched in sardonicism.</p><p>The room had soon filled with awkward laughs and halfhearted excuses, after all, they'd never accused him upfront. Despite or perhaps because of this, the thought of pretending they were comfortable around him seemed to fill them with the most intensive dread. Will had soon given up trying to change their perception of him, remaining in relative isolation for the rest of their visit. This night was no different, and as he smoked through his pack of cheap cigarettes, he was surprised by how at peace he felt. Unbothered by the opinions of his peers <em>at last. </em>They would never understand the beauty that can only be found in the most depraved bits of humanity, in the inky brilliance of the night, and for that, he pitied them. </p><p>Will leaned over the balcony, pressing his body against the vine-covered structure, and let his hair fall over his closed eyes. His hand jauntily held his last cigarette and as he moved to raise it to his lips, he dropped it, his wrist tugged sharply downwards. He couldn't bring himself to feel upset, though, knowing instantly what he had been pulled towards. </p><p>"But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?" Came the sweet, operatic voice from below.</p><p>Will couldn't help but laugh, pushing a hand through his unruly curls. He peeked through the greenery and, sure enough, there stood his darling monster, gazing back at him. </p><p>"I suppose I'm not leaving tonight then." Will told him, toying with the dark, dark string that connected them.</p><p>"No, I rather think you aren't." Was his response, and there was a smile there, Will could hear it.</p><p>"Not sure how I'll explain that to the parents. Sorry, can't come back from Italy. Met a serial killer, fell in love, you know how it is."</p><p>A quiet chuckle, making Will's heart flutter, though he'd never admit it.</p><p>"Deny thy father and refuse thy name. Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love, And I’ll no longer be a killer."</p><p>"Are you Romeo or am I? Prospective FBI trainee and elusive murderer. The universe has a sense of humour, after all." Will wondered, tickled by life's sheer absurdities. </p><p>"Though, I...wouldn't change you, wouldn't cage you...limit you." He realised, trailing off.</p><p>"No, we couldn't have that." </p><p>Will trailed a finger through the vines, beckoning his lover. The man arched a brow, amused, but humoured him. In a manner that was altogether feline, he scaled the latticed wall and pulled himself over the balcony rail, landing next to Will with a quiet thud. </p><p>"Hi." Will said, smiling.</p><p>The other man just cocked his head, shaking his hair gently to rid it of errant leaves.</p><p>"Hello." He offered.</p><p>"Hello." Will returned, still smiling softly.</p><p> </p>
<p></p><div class="noFear__line noFear__line--original">
  <p>"I'm Will. Will Graham."</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="noFear__line noFear__line--original">
  <p>"Will Graham." The man said, repeating it once more as he reached up to brush a curl behind Will's ear.</p>
</div><div class="noFear__line noFear__line--original">
  <p>It was an odd feeling, almost electric, hearing his name spoken so reverently.</p>
</div><div class="noFear__line noFear__line--original">
  <p>He realised, with no small amount of satisfaction, that the experience brought to mind a line he'd once memorised.</p>
  <p>"It is my soul that calls upon my name. How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, Like softest music to attending ears!"</p>
</div><div class="noFear__line noFear__line--original">
  <p>The taller man simply looked at him approvingly, "The story of Romeo and Juliet, it is lovely, isn't it?"</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="noFear__line noFear__line--original">
  <p>"Beautiful enough to transcend time, I suppose."</p>
</div><div class="noFear__line noFear__line--original">
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="noFear__line noFear__line--original">
  <p>"Indeed. Love is often dangerous, thus further incentivising those of us who dread such complications to avoid it. The foolish hero and heroine of that eponymous play had no such qualms. For them, it led to death. For us? Perhaps the same. Do you believe that such recklessness should be tolerated?"</p>
</div><div class="noFear__line noFear__line--original">
  <p>At this, he left his perch on the ground, brushing his doubtlessly expensive suit free of dust and other particulate, and fixed Will with a gaze so full of ardour it momentarily paralysed him. </p>
</div><div class="noFear__line noFear__line--original">
  <p>Will considered his words, tilting his head in thought, "Certainly. Attempting to avoid death is pointless. Isn't it better to live truly and fully for an single instant than to exist in a state of mediocrity for centuries? We're all just pinpoints in the vast expanse of time, we can't hope to grasp any trace of immortality, we can only tryto <em>live</em> before we inevitably die. God knows most of us merely exist." </p>
</div><div class="noFear__line noFear__line--original">
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="noFear__line noFear__line--original">
  <p>"These violent delights have violent ends."</p>
  <p> </p>
</div><div class="noFear__line noFear__line--original">
  <p>"I would have it no other way."</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>"Nor I."</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p>"Now,<em> mostro mio,</em> they call you the Monster of Florence, bit long for casual conversation."</p>
  <p>"Hannibal." He responded, offering a now-familiar hand. "I do apologise for our delayed introduction. I must operate under some degree of anonymity, you understand. It wouldn't do for my name to slip from the lips of potential witnesses."</p>
  <p>"Somehow I doubt you leave any witnesses, <em>Hannibal</em>." Will murmured, taking the outstretched hand in both of his and kissing it. </p>
  <p>"And yet, here you stand in front of me, unmarred for all your knowledge." Hannibal smiled, gently raising Will's hand to his lips in reciprocation. </p>
  <p>"We've just begun our little dance, plenty of time to change that." Will reminded him, entranced by the way the moonlight danced upon his features, accentuating his pulchritudinous bone structure. </p>
  <p>"Yes, I suppose there is." He replied with a light laugh that seemed to surprise him.</p>
  <p>"Come, Will. There is something I wish to show you." He continued, motioning for him to come closer. </p>
  <p>Will obeyed, stepping into the moonlight himself, near enough to the other man that his eyes had trouble focusing on him, darting from lips to nose to eyes and back again. </p>
  <p>Hannibal gently positioned them so that Will's back was against his chest, and they rested that way for a moment, Hannibal burying his nose in Will's hair, strong arms around his middle. It was unbearably sweet and for a second, Will could not find it in himself to breathe, terrified that any movement he made would ruin it, this gentle, gentle feeling. When he eventually exhaled, he felt so at peace it scared him. "This what you wanted to show me?" Will managed.</p>
  <p>"Hm? Oh, no. Not at all." Hannibal answered, voice muffled by Will's curls, and Will wondered when he'd last embraced someone. He didn't ask, just looped his fingers through Hannibal's and closed his eyes.</p>
  <p>Hannibal raised their entwined hands towards the sky, and the ever-present red string seemed to warp and change in the light, dripping like so much blood from their hands and down their arms. Hannibal was laughing softly, enraptured by the sight, and Will could do nothing but stare. How do you survive the apocalypse? The complete ending and destruction of your world, even if, <em>even if </em>you know, and indeed, are laying witness to its rebirth? This, Will asked himself as he stared blankly at blood ribbon trickling its way along his body. He was being reborn, washed in the blood of the lamb. His blood, he realised. Theirs.</p>
  <p>In the midst of his intense distraction, he didn't notice the balcony door opening, when he did, he immediately jumped away from Hannibal, severing their connection with such an unexpected ferocity it actually pained him. The flatmate who had interrupted them glanced between them with a look that bordered on hysteria. </p>
  <p>"What the <em>fuck</em>, Graham?" </p>
  <p>At first, Will wasn't sure what he was referring to, too panicked to breathe, much less focus on anything else. </p>
  <p>Hannibal looked remarkably unimpressed with the situation and laid a hand on Will's shoulder, grounding him immediately.</p>
  <p>As he regained his ability to breathe, he realised what his flatmate was most probably concerned about, there was blood...everywhere.  </p>
  <p>It looked like a crime scene, and Will couldn't blame his flatmate (Jared? Jason? Jeremy? Something like that) for his outburst. It was quite understandable.</p>
  <p>Hannibal, though, seemed to have no such sympathies and was regarding Jacob (Justin?) with a look that Will found altogether terrifying. It was calculating and cold, and completely free of the frenzied madness commonly associated with killers. No, this was something else entirely.</p>
  <p>Noting Will's distinct discomfort, Hannibal sighed, leaning against the balcony railing. "Would you be so kind as to shut the door, Will?" At the sharp intake of breath from Justin, Hannibal quickly raised a finger to his lips, "One more noise and I will render your internal organs external, unpleasant for the both of us, as I would so hate to have your biological fluids stain my clothing.</p>
  <p>Jared's eyes just widened. Will slipped behind him, shutting the door and blocking it with his frame, regarding the scene with no small amount of curiosity. </p>
  <p>"He thought <em>I </em>was the killer, you know." Will divulged, casually.</p>
  <p>At this their captive appeared to put two and two together, terror visible on his face. He whispered haltingly, "Please, just let me go. I swear I won't tell anyone anything, Graham. I- You're not a murderer, Will, Will! please don't- don't let him-" </p>
  <p>Hannibal waved his hand dismissively, "Unfortunately, these pathetic utterances do count against your 'one more noise' warning. Remind me, dear Will, what was it that you said about witnesses?"</p>
  <p>"You don't seem the type to leave any." Will conceded, unable to keep a small smile off his lips, "Except, of course, in special cases." He concluded, gesturing towards himself. </p>
  <p>"This is not a special case." Hannibal pointed out.</p>
  <p>"No, I don't suppose it is." Will agreed, tugging absently at the bloodied string they shared. </p>
  <p>Upon hearing that interaction, Jeremy decided he was willing to take his chances, breathing deeply as if to scream when Hannibal, in a blur, gracefully rendering the distance between them null, placed his hands around his neck and twisted sharply. There wasn't a loud crunch, it was actually rather understated, and it happened so quickly. Jacob now in an unnatural heap on the floor, face forever locked in an expression of abject terror.</p>
  <p>Will dropped to his knees and stared at the body, equally fascinated and horrified with his situation. The gravity of it all was quickly sinking in and Will began to shake, thoroughly overwhelmed. </p>
  <p>"Will?"</p>
  <p>Will managed to pull himself out of his thoughts for a moment, gazing at Hannibal's spotless Oxfords, blinking as a torrent of blood poured from the sky and drenched them both, he blinked again and it disappeared. "God, I hope this doesn't awaken anything in me." He barked out a disbelieving laugh that, he realised uneasily, was not far from a sob.</p>
  <p>Hannibal crouched across from Will, not paying the corpse in between them the slightest attention, and tenderly grasped the younger man's face. "I can leave you here if you wish. Sole survivor of <em>il Mostro di Firenze</em>. You don't have to be a part of this, Will. But if you choose to be, this is the least I will ask of you." </p>
  <p>"No, no," Will assured him, "It's fine. Good. It's fine. I mean, I've never seen- I'm just- It's fine."</p>
  <p>Hannibal smiled tightly in response, clearly not fully convinced, but appeased for the time being. "Are there any others?"</p>
  <p>"Hm? Oh, three. Hey, Hannibal...do you see any blood?" Will asked, gesturing vaguely at the terrace floor.</p>
  <p>"...No." Hannibal answered, following Will's gaze. </p>
  <p>"Right. Me neither." Will confirmed, as the previously bloodied grounds became pristine again before his eyes. "Right." He repeated softly. </p>
  <p>Hannibal leaned forwards, nose brushing Will's hair, as if to smell him. He pulled away several moments later, curiosity, it seemed, sated. "We'll have to deal with this most distressing development later, we have more...pressing matters at present."</p>
  <p>"Did you just...smell me?" When Hannibal failed to respond, Will moved on, "What development?"</p>
  <p>Hannibal just smiled and pressed a kiss to his forehead, "So many questions." </p>
  <p>"Come, <em>piccolo, </em>we have much to do." Hannibal told him, rising elegantly.</p>
  <p>Will scrambled to his feet after him, tentatively entering the flat...silence. The other occupants must be asleep, or gone. </p>
  <p>Will glanced at Hannibal, questioning. </p>
  <p>He just shook his head, walking past Will into the main area of congregation, his steps quiet as always.</p>
  <p>Beckoning for Will to join him, he made his way to the kitchen. "I'm not going to kill them while they sleep. That would be...discourteous." He explained, nose wrinkling as he rifled through the cupboards that were typical of a group of bachelors in their contents. </p>
  <p>Will huffed out a laugh at his obvious disapproval, leaning against him as he reached for the reasonably acceptable bottle of wine he'd been saving for what he'd previously assumed would be his last night in Italy. </p>
  <p>
    <em>- Rivesaltes Riveyrav 1980 -</em>
  </p>
  <p><em>"</em>A French wine in provincial Italy? Will, you are full of surprises." Hannibal said approvingly as Will grabbed two mismatched wine glasses and box of chocolates the shopkeeper had said would "pair well with such a wine", whatever that meant. Will was half sure he'd just wanted to sell another tin of exorbitantly priced sweets, but he'd bought them anyway.</p>
  <p>"We had a layover in Bordeaux, actually. I got a bit lost, found this old shop and the owner wouldn't let me leave until I purchased something. I don't speak fluent enough French to have argued with him, so I did. Chocolates and wine." At this, Will held up the sweets for Hannibal to see, grinning at his excited demeanour when he recognised the brand name.</p>
  <p>All things considered, had it been worth the nearly $200 that he'd spent on it? As Will listened to Hannibal explain in great detail the illustrious history of <em>Debauve et Gallais,</em> from its birth under the instruction of Marie Antoinette all throughout its consistently respected position as one of France's best luxury chocolate brands, and on and on about the unique way in which each chocolate is formulated, he had to admit it was. Sure, he'd been left with barely enough money to sight see and resorted to smoking cigarettes for dinner, but it was still truly and decidedly worth it. Just to see this serious, almost brooding figure reduced to a beaming child. </p>
  <p>Will pulled himself onto the counter and rooted around the counter space looking for the corkscrew, finding it, he carefully uncorked the bottle, pouring the sanguine liquid into the glasses and handing one to his lover. Hannibal took it gratefully and performed some sort of pretentious wine-snob ritual Will didn't bother to inquire about, just snorting into his glass at the absurdity of it all. Waiting for his flatmates to wake up so they could kill them <em>politely, </em>they were sipping fine wine and eating decadent sweets, it was positively <em>unreal.</em></p>
  <p>Hannibal was smiling, turned towards Will with his side pressed against the counter. He seemed almost shy, eyes darting from Will to ground every time Will caught him staring. Will sighed softly, leaning into his hand and feeding Hannibal the sweets he seemed to like best. They were in that position, Hannibal resting his head on Will's thigh, Will absently running his hands through his hair, when one of the bedroom doors opened.</p>
  <p>A half asleep man stumbled into the kitchen, presumably for a glass of water, when he realised he wasn't alone. Taking in the scene, the still partially drunk man laughed jovially, "Always knew you were a fa--" A statement he never finished, as Hannibal in one swift movement grasped the hair at the back of his neck and slammed his head into the counter with such force that his skull veritably shattered. Will jumped off the counter, sheltering the chocolates from the spray of viscera as he did. </p>
  <p>"Okay." Will said, navigating around the surprisingly widespread mess that had once been his flatmate Robert's head. </p>
  <p>Hannibal did not reply, having returned to the patio to retrieve the stiffening corpse from its impromptu resting place. </p>
  <p>He seemed different, somehow. Not the corpse, of course, the corpse looked much the same...a bit greyer here, purpler there, but no, not much had changed. Hannibal, however, appeared to have retreated within himself, his movements nearly robotic in their uniformity, his eyes empty. Almost as if he'd entered a dissociative state.</p>
  <p>Will guessed that the noise would have woken the other two occupants and mentally started a countdown to when they'd inevitably emerge from their respective rooms. </p>
  <p>Ignoring this for the moment, he sidled up behind Hannibal, mirroring and reversing the position they'd assumed in the moonlight, burying his face in the taller man's shoulder. Hannibal allowed his stance to soften a bit, leaning back into the embrace. </p>
  <p>"Stay with me."</p>
  <p>"Of course." A small smile. "Where else would I go?"</p>
  <p>"If you wanted to, you could disappear, slip between the cracks. I'm asking you not to...or at least, let me follow."</p>
  <p>"You'll always know how to find me, Will. That will never change."</p>
  <p>"Yeah, yeah. I know." Will conceded, pulling back and running a hand over his face, exasperated.</p>
  <p>Hannibal's lips parted as if to speak, but before he managed to say anything, the final bedroom door opened and the two remaining flatmates crept out, eyes darting wildly, not yet adjusted to the dim lighting.</p>
  <p>Hannibal pursed his lips and waited for them to notice him. He was stood near the balcony entrance and was therefore bathed in light, while Will remained hidden in the relative darkness of the shadows. </p>
  <p>Instead, they went towards the kitchen, and when they found what was left of their friend, Will could hear one or both of them vomit, then violently curse. Hannibal sighed and started in their direction.</p>
  <p>Will followed him slowly, staying in the shadows. </p>
  <p>Hannibal paused in the doorway, their backs were towards him, and they did not hear him approaching. He casually considered his options, glancing from the set of presumably dull knives to the mostly empty bottle of wine to his own capable hands and settled on the latter method. </p>
  <p>He purposefully knocked over a glass, after realising with some dismay that the chances of them noticing him on their own were slim to none, and as they spinned, one of them slipped in the vomit-viscera mixture and fell flat on his backside. Hannibal was well and truly disgusted. They did not even deserve to die by his hands, and half of him considered leaving them like this. When the police arrived, the evidence would incriminate them, after all.</p>
  <p>But no, he could leave no witnesses (as Will seemed so keen on reminding him). </p>
  <p>"Stay- stay back, man. It's two against one, We'll- we'll- you just stay back." The prone man gurgled, in an almost pitiable manner.</p>
  <p>At this, Will emerged from behind the door, looking just as unimpressed with the situation. Regarding the mess on the floor with a wrinkled nose.</p>
  <p>"Graham, Graham! We can take him, there's three of us and just one of him." The man babbled on, upon seeing Will's familiar, if not friendly, visage.</p>
  <p>The other man had remained silent throughout all of this and did not regard Will with any sort of hope, seeming to have made peace with his fate, or perhaps he just realised what his friend hadn't, that Will would be of no help to them at all.</p>
  <p>Trying to keep from laughing, Will simply stepped next to Hannibal, "Guess again, Simon." </p>
  <p>Simon's babbling stopped then, his mouth gaping in disbelief. "You... you did this?" He whispered, gesturing between the two of them and the body slumped against the counter. </p>
  <p>Hannibal was watching the interaction with no small amount of amusement, intrigued. </p>
  <p>Will just sighed, bored. "Are you going to attack us or not? Oh, Justin's dead, too."</p>
  <p>This admission received the intended response, Simon jumping at Will with an enraged cry, having been Justin's older brother.</p>
  <p>This being all Hannibal needed to leap into action, intercepting Simon's attempt as Will slipped behind him, laughing quietly.</p>
  <p>With one hand restricting his windpipe, Hannibal reached for one of the longer knives available and pinned the man to a cupboard by piercing his oesophagus, fascinated by the gurgling screams this resulted in. Gravity pushed his body down on the knife, ripping through his throat entirely before the knife finally caught on the thicker bone of his jaw, at which point he was very much dead, one of his carotid arteries bleeding profusely. </p>
  <p>Henry, the last man standing, began reconsidering his approach when he saw the method in which Simon had been killed. Swallowing nervously, he crept behind the presently occupied Hannibal and grasped his opened pocket knife. Just as he was about to bury it deep in Hannibal's spine, Will appeared behind him, shattering the wine bottle over his head. Henry staggered back, several deep lacerations on his face and skull pouring blood that mixed with the remaining wine. As Henry tripped over Robert's corpse, Will followed him down, alternating between suffocating him and punching him with glass punctured fists. His mind was ruminating over every cruel word they'd sent his way, each push, each mockery, all of it rising to the surface and filling him with a violent rage, a desire for justice. Henry never had a chance to scream as his face gave way, Will's blind blows collapsing the very structure of his face. By the time Hannibal managed to pull Will off of him, Henry's visage was entirely unidentifiable as a face at all. A mess of blood and broken teeth and what might have been brain matter splayed across purpling skin and white bone. </p>
  <p>Hannibal held Will as he struggled in his arms, bloodied fists beating against his chest, sobs slowly subsiding.  </p>
  <p>Will buried his face in his chest, a mixture of frustration, hate, and grief running through him as Hannibal stroked his hair gently, whispering reassuring words in a medley of languages, half of which Will had no comprehension of. Gripping Hannibal's shirt with hands covered in bits of bone and gore, Will attempted to regain control of himself, ragged breathing slowly evening out. </p>
  <p>"Let's just go. Can we please just go?" Will whispered, "Let's just go."</p>
  <p>Hannibal lifted his head, uneasy in the growing light of early morning. "I must finish this, you can wait outside, yes?" Hannibal inquired, speaking softly with genuine concern in his eyes. He pulled a half empty pack of cigarettes from the back pocket of one of the victims, slipping it into Will's hand. </p>
  <p>Will didn't move, curled up in Hannibal's arms. He absently wondered whether the people whose strings were connected to the recently deceased were aware of their loss. If the cord disappeared or grew dull. The rims of his jeans were stained with blood and so were Hannibal's, Will's fault, he knew. He sighed, knowing that time was of the essence. He rose to his feet, grasping the cigarettes like a lifeline and walked out onto the balcony. He sat cross-legged on the floor, and listened as the songbirds began to greet the rising sun. He distractedly went through the rest of the pack, shaking slightly as the nicotine hit him. He closed his eyes as if to sleep and opened them to Hannibal cleaning and bandaging his knuckles.</p>
  <p>"Hey." He muttered, squinting his eyes at the bright sun. "How long was I out?" </p>
  <p>"A few hours." Hannibal answered, mind elsewhere. </p>
  <p>He handed a Will a change of clothes, murmuring something about destroying evidence and retreated into the flat again. </p>
  <p>Will yawned and did as he had been instructed, changing and folding his old, bloodied clothes before joining Hannibal inside.</p>
  <p>He wasn't sure what he'd expected, but it wasn't the scene that greeted him. The entire flat was spotless, no trace of blood or gore to be seen. </p>
  <p>Will was still reeling at the sight, wondering if he'd dreamt the events of the night before, when Hannibal appeared at his shoulder. "Shall we?"</p>
  <p>"Where are they?" Will asked blankly, half expecting Hannibal to ask what he was talking about.</p>
  <p>"Kitchen."</p>
  <p>Will slowly walked towards the room, and was significantly less surprised by what he found within it. Hannibal was regarding him curiously, awaiting his response the way he had that first time. Will sighed, moving further into the room, glad for once that he'd taken an Art History course. "Caravaggio." He supplied.</p>
  <p>"Yes." Hannibal confirmed, still a bit wary. </p>
  <p>Caravaggio's artwork was notoriously dark, and Hannibal's particular medium worked quite well to recreate its macabre beauty.</p>
  <p><em>Boy with a Basket of Fruit.</em> Henry was sat on the floor, what had once been his face was now a bouquet of sorts, vines and blossoms from the balcony's abundant greenery spilling from his cranial cavity. In his arms, a basket of organs and errant limbs, presumably his and the other flatmates'. It was surprisingly accurate to the painting, and Will was genuinely impressed. Henry's clothes had been traded for a loose blouse that billowed around his shoulders, his left breast exposed in accordance with the source material. It was masterful, and no small amount of Will wanted to kick him for it. He'd been an awful person in life, this was more than he deserved. Perhaps Hannibal noticed this, because he approached Will, resting his chin on his shoulder and wrapping his arms around him. </p>
  <p>The other two bodies, or more truthfully, the other body was structured after Caravaggio's <em>Bacchino Malato</em> and <em>The Head of Medusa</em>. Justin was the central figure in this piece, modelled as Bacchus, his deathly pallor perfectly emulating the original intent of the Italian master so many years before. However, the physical recreation deviated from the painting in that instead of Justin holding a bunch of grapes, he held the decapitated head of his elder brother. Face frozen in an expression of pain and horror, Simon made a marvellous Medusa, his hair manipulated and moulded to appear snakelike and mouth open in an eternal scream. His body divided between provisions for Henry's bountiful cornucopia of body parts and the final installation of this most gory tableau, <em>The Lute Player</em>. Robert's eviscerated face had also been replaced by flowers and vines, and in his hands, there lay a lute formed from a torso and possibly a leg, Will could not identify the limb, but it was a limb, that much he could ascertain. With tuning pegs made from bones and what Will could only assume were strings of gut, this piece was perhaps the most gruesome in its imagery, though no less beautiful for it. </p>
  <p>Hannibal was still stood there, almost anxious as he awaited Will's response. It was endearing, really. The idea that one could murder several people, create art of their bodies, and still remain so intensely human. Will laughed, genuinely tickled, and gesturing towards the display, said "Caravaggio, I think, would be pleased." </p>
  <p>"And you? Are you...pleased?"</p>
  <p>"I think they'd be better off piled in a trash heap somewhere, Hannibal. If you're asking for an art critic, you've come knocking on the wrong door."</p>
  <p>Hannibal nodded at this, smiling, too. "Let's go."</p>
  <p>"Oh, yes please." Will agreed, grabbing the box of chocolate as they had, after all, been very expensive. </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p> </p>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>(did you guys know that il mostro di firenze is an actual case and it totally doesn't fit hannibal's m.o. because it was actually a group of several killers who engaged in sexually motivated crimes? yeah, bryan fuller missed the mark there. also questionable to use a real killer's "name" in a fictional sense, i mean...tasteless. for these purposes we're assuming il mostro's a misguided man in his late 20s-early 30s with a penchant for art and an affinity for murder.)</p><p>also, apparently hannibal is canonically half italian? that's so sexy of him.</p><p>they're so physically affectionate in this, leave me alone, i don't care if it's out of character.</p><p>+ there is no blood falling from the sky, will. you've just got a swollen brain, dear.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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